


The Neurosis of Touch

by name_me_regret



Series: Ordinary [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Miles Morales is a good boyfriend, Peter Parker is a Mess, consent is important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-19 12:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19356973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/name_me_regret/pseuds/name_me_regret
Summary: After the events that happened during Peter’s freshman year, his and Miles’s relationship is going better, at least, better than the start of it. There’s just one problem, which is his anxiety of being touched.





	The Neurosis of Touch

**Author's Note:**

> I know the events of Homecoming happen in Peter’s Sophomore year in the MCU timeline, but in my headcannon it happens during his Freshman year of high school. Because it kinda fits if you think about it if he was fourteen in CA:CW, he was fourteen (Tony confirmed it in Homecoming, i.e. rooftop scene), that means he was either in his first year of High School or his last year of Middle School. So, congrats Rogers, you likely beat up a middle schooler.
> 
> This actually happens before ‘The Art of Dancing’, I just couldn’t finish this until now. TAOD happens in February, actually.
> 
>  
> 
> To @mimi_bella7, thanks for reaching out. You gave me motivation when I was facing some personal problems and it helped me finish this.

**The Neurosis of Touch**  
   
_\- - - -_

 _“Tell me,_  
_what happened when we_  
_stopped being young?_  
_Skin cracked up, brittle bones_  
_Do we wither into dust?_

 _I must know where I stand_  
_I held your hand,_  
_For half my life._

 _Am I half the man I used to be?_  
_'Cause you did more than just_  
_stay with me._

_I stare down the maw...”_

~The Maw - Social Repose

\- - - -

Peter sighed as he lay on the bed, having collapsed onto it as soon as they had arrived. Miles was sitting on the floor against the bed as he quietly finished up his homework. Luckily, Peter has a study period close to the end of the day, so he managed to finish all his homework. Unluckily, he has gym as his last class and there was a new teacher that is determined to get Peter to exercise rather than simply sit around due to his asthma.  
   
Ned kept insisting he tell Mr. Stark, but he didn’t want to bother him. He had heart problems, and now with recovering from his skull fracture, he tended to get headaches easily. So, Peter didn’t want to add to his stress with something he could deal with on his own.  
   
“I can hear you thinking from here,” Miles said, sounding amused.  
   
Peter hummed but continued to stare up at the ceiling. He was wearing his jeans and a long-sleeved collared shirt, since it was the middle of November and it was starting to get colder. His Aunt had already started to unpack their heavier winter coats, since they would need them very soon. And next week was the last week before the Thanksgiving break and was looking forward to it. Especially, because that meant turkey, and spending time with Miles. Him and his family were going to come over early Friday because May and Rio wanted to go get Black Friday specials.

Miles set his notebook and textbook aside before turning and climbing on the bed, laying out beside him, and their hands immediately gravitated toward one another as they laced their fingers together. The apartment was silent, since May had left for work before Peter and Miles had even gotten there, having a double shift that day. He had reassured her that he would be fine staying by himself, and that he’d order out.  
   
Since it was Friday, he’d texted Miles to ask if he wanted to come over, and the other had quickly agreed. Miles had gotten there almost at the same time as Peter, which led him to believe that he’d skipped his last class. “It’s just art,” he told him when Peter had asked; art being one of his electives. “The teacher is always distracted by the last class on Friday, and Ganke said he’d cover for me.”  
   
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Miles asked him, his fingers tracing patterns over his palm. Peter smiled as he felt him draw a heart along his palm.  
   
“I’m just thinking that I love you,” he admitted, turning toward him at the same time as Miles did as well. There was that smile of his that Peter loved, where his dimpled showed.  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“Yeah,” he agreed. He leaned forward as his eyes fluttered closed, seeing as Miles also moved forward. As their lips met, Miles was always firm and sure whenever they kissed and now wasn’t any different. Miles was always the more confident of the two and Peter found himself feeling so lucky for having the best boyfriend, since he always seemed to know when Peter was feeling self-conscious. He usually made him smile or laugh by doing something stupid or silly, and in turn, Peter was happy when he was able to make Miles laugh, and Miles had the best laugh too. It was loud but sincere.  
   
He felt the other press his tongue forward and opened his mouth to let him in, both turning on their sides as they scooted closer, one of Miles’s legs hooking around Peter’s to pull him closer. Peter felt his heart start to beat faster as he felt Miles shift forward more, and soon he felt his back meet the bed as the taller teen climbed over him to press him against the bed. He didn’t put all his weight on him, since being taller and bit bulkier in the muscles department, Miles was heavier than Peter, who hated how skinny he was. Miles’s hand had come to grip his hip as his leg shifted felt it press against his crotch.  
   
_’...how about we have some fun, Einstein?’_  
   
Peter almost jerked away from his boyfriend as Skip’s words came to his mind, but he tried to push the thought of the man away. He wasn’t there anymore... he was fine, this was fine. Peter wanted this.  
   
Even then, he couldn’t help the flinch when Miles’s fingers slipped under his shirt and touched his bare skin. Miles pulled away, having felt his full body flinch. “Are you alright?” he asked with a frown.  
   
“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” he reassured him, smiling in what he hoped was a convincing manner.  
   
Miles seemed hesitant as his eyes searched his face, but after a moment he slowly nodded. His hands came up to cup face gently, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his mouth that filled him with warmth. _’Get it together, Peter,’_ he told himself. _‘It’s Miles, and you’re fine.’_  
   
Peter felt his body settle over his again, hips pressing against his own, and when he felt a stirring of arousal, he was relieved. He was fine. This was fine. Peter _wanted_ this, wanted Miles.  
   
The kiss grew hot and heavy again, their tongues meeting as Miles tilted his head to deepen it. One of his hands moved away from his face and to his hair, fingers tangling in Peter’s curls as the other hand moved down his body.  
   
Peter tried to touch him as well, to get over his apprehension, hesitant hands moving as one gripped his shoulder and the other the front of Miles’s shirt. Then his hand slipped inside Peter’s shirt again, and Peter forced himself to relax even as his heart clenched in his chest. He was so concentrated on making himself relax, that he had stopped touching the other, but Miles didn’t seem to notice for the moment.  
   
His eyes were clenched tightly instead of just being closed, fingers tightening around Miles’s shirt as he felt the other’s warm fingers moving over the bare skin of his stomach. _’I’m fine... I’m fine... this is fine.... I’m fine!’_ Miles rolled his hips against his, feeling that he was aroused and Peter was as well, because he wanted his boyfriend, desired him. So... so why did he feel like crying?  
   
Miles suddenly pulled away and Peter opened his eyes as he looked up at him in confusion. “W-what is it?” His heart was beating so fast in his chest that he felt sick with it.  
   
He grimaced. “You’re crying,” he said.  
   
Peter was even more confused. “W-what?” he choked. His hand lifted to his face and was surprised to feel tears on his cheeks. “I d-don’t...”  
   
Miles sighed, reaching down to pull his shirt down before climbing off him. “We should stop.”  
   
He sat up quickly, face heating up. “I... I’m fine... we don’t have to stop,” he protested, even if he felt relieved. “Miles...”  
   
His boyfriend smiled as he scooted closer, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close before pressing a kiss to his mouth. “You’re not ready, Peter. I don’t want you to force yourself.”  
   
Peter leaned against him, burying his face against his shoulder. “I-I’m sorry,” he mumbled.  
   
He chuckled. “Don’t be,” he told him, nuzzling his face within his curls. “It’s alright.”  
   
Peter felt his throat close up with the urge to cry, but for a whole different reason. He really did have the best boyfriend.  
   
\- - - -  
   
Peter’s breath hitched in his throat as he felt his back meet the wall, his taller boyfriend crowding him against the wall as his mouth pressed insistently against his own, hands covering his hot cheeks. His arms had come up to wrap around Miles, hands gripping the back of his shirt as he returned the kiss until his head spun.  
   
He moaned when his leg came in between his as the other pressed closer, and soon felt Miles’s hands move into his brown hair, fingers gripping the strands a bit tightly.  
   
_‘Shut the fuck up!’_  
   
The light-skinned teenager jerked instinctively, bucking against the other’s hold as his hands shoved him away. Miles stumbled back, confusion on his face as his shoulder lifted quickly with his rapid breathing. “Peter? W-what is it?” he asked when he saw the stricken look on his face.  
   
Peter groaned when he realized what he’d done, hands coming up to cover his mortified face. “God, I’m so sorry, Miles. I d-don’t… I just had a…” he tried off. He twitched as he felt the other’s hand on his shoulder, lifting his face to face the other.  
   
“What is it? I mean, I didn’t touch under your clothes,” he said, since he knew that’s what had made him freak out last time. Miles hated that he had been forcing himself past the panic he had been feeling at being touched under his shirt and had made the other promise to tell him if it happened again. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt him or make it worse for him.  
   
Peter shook his head as he closed his eyes, feeling the urge to cry again. He hated this, hated it so so much. Why couldn’t he just be alright already? Peter wanted to be with Miles, he wanted the other to touch him and not freak out over it. And Miles was being so patient and an awesome boyfriend, but Peter didn’t think it was fair to him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he got tired of him and decided to just break up with him.  
   
“Stop it,” Miles snapped, stepping closer to him as he grabbed his wrists. Peter was shocked to realize his own hands had grabbed fistfuls of his hair and had been pulling hard enough that a few of the strands had been yanked out. “Don’t do that.”  
   
“Why can’t I be okay?” he choked, taking in ragged breaths. “He’s dead… so why can’t I be okay?!”  
   
Miles yanked him closer, wrapping his arms tightly around him. “Calm down,” he murmured. “Breathe with me, come on,” he soothed, seeing the beginning of his asthma attack. He’d gotten really good at seeing the signs of an impending attack. “Slowly, in and out… that’s it.”  
   
Peter gripped him tightly, fearing that he’d shake apart without the other holding him together.  
   
   
With Miles’s encouragement, he spoke with May and his dad, and it was decided that he’d start to see a child psychologist twice a week. Peter hoped he got better, because when he said he was fine, he wanted it to be true.  
   
\- - - -  
   
“How are things, Peter?” Dr. Ruth asked kindly, a mona lisa smile on her lips. She had blonde hair that was fading into white, and a wrinkled, but kind face. The woman, the doctor, was never invasive in her questions and let Peter do the talking, whatever he wanted to talk about. She was wearing a collared, long sleeved sweater, and a long skirt with leggings, which was right due to the weather outside. It was late December, so late that it was almost Christmas; in two days actually.  
   
Peter shrugged as he lingered in front of the window, watching the snow flutter past. It had been snowing most of the day, and it was likely that it would be a White Christmas. Although, Peter didn’t feel too much in the Christmas spirit, and wished it was over so he could stop pretending to smile.  
   
He had started to come see Dr. Ruth since the beginning of the month, and when he had finally started to speak of his assault, it was the third session. As soon as he spoke about it, everything had just come pouring out; about Toomes almost killing them, about being sexually assaulted in that warehouse, his sexual abuse when he’d been eight. Peter just couldn’t seem to stop once he had started, sobbing through the worst parts and the doctor had to cancel her next appointment to calm him down.  
   
Peter had thought he would get better afterwards, but then the depression had come, the self-loathing at not being strong enough to protect himself. So, the sessions had continued, taking each day at a time, doing his two sessions a week and calling Dr. Ruth on the off days when something triggered a flashback or an episode. It almost always happened whenever his and Miles’s make-out sessions got a bit too hot and heavy, and he hated it.  
   
“I’m feeling tired… and cold,” he admitted, smirking sardonically at the falling snow. He crossed his arms over his chest, but it was more like he was hugging himself as he pressed his nose to the sleeve and inhaled. “This is Miles’s hoodie,” he confessed. It smelled like him still, the spicy scent that he often used that Peter liked. He was currently visiting family in Puerto Rico and wouldn’t be back until after Christmas, so this was the next best thing to having the other close.  
   
“Did you take it?” she asked him quietly. He was his last patient of the day, having found it easier to change it until late, since he was more talkative when he was tired, after a long day at school or whatnot. “Does it give you comfort?”  
   
Peter shook his head. “No, he gave it to me before he left to visit his family.” He closed his eyes and inhaled the other’s scent again, feeling his throat get tight. “It does… makes me feel better.” His shoulders hunched defensively. “I’ve slept in it most nights since he left.”  
   
“You love him?”  
   
He gave a choked laugh. “Well, yeah. He’s like… the best boyfriend, ever. He’s thoughtful of my feelings, he’s patient when I freak out, and does silly things to cheer me up when I’m sad.” He lifted a hand to press it against the cold glass of the window, the falling snow almost mesmerizing to look at. The doctor’s voice brought him back to the present time, having been threatening to lose himself to his dark thoughts so quickly. So much quicker these days.  
   
“But?” she inquired.  
   
“But maybe I’m holding him back. It’s not fair to Miles. I mean, he tries not to let it show it bothers him when I flinch away from him, but I can see it upsets him a lot.” His fingers gripped the hoodie where it rested at his side, one arm still hugging himself as he continued to keep the other pressed to the cold window pain. It was starting to hurt a bit. “I’m just… I’m useless to him. What can I offer him? I’m such a mess… such a fucking weakling.”  
   
“Peter,” Dr. Ruth said firmly, “come back.”  
   
Peter blinked and remembered that he was in Dr. Ruth’s office, and he was digging his nails into his side so hard he was in danger of drawing blood. “Oh,” he whispered, releasing the skin he’d been abusing and he hadn’t even realized when he’d lifted the hoodie.  
   
“I thought we had gotten past hurting yourself, Peter. What changed? Is it Miles departure to Puerto Rico?”  
   
He swallowed and shook his head. “No, I…” He pulled his hand away from the window, hiding it under his armpit to warm up the cold appendage. “It’s the cold, I guess.” He lowered his head and hid his face against the high color of the hoodie. “And I miss Miles too...a little.”  
   
The woman hummed. He was happy not to hear the scratch of pen against paper, since she tended to record her sessions so she could give her full attention to her patients. While at times adults were curious about the notes the doctor wrote during their sessions, it was nothing to the curiosity of a child. It was best to just record it and write out her notes later, away from their eyes.  
   
“Our session is just about over, but I’d like to see you again in four days,” she told him, opening her appointment book.  
   
Peter turned to look at her. “But… Miles is coming back the day after Christmas, and I… well, I wanted to see him… spend some time together.”  
   
She smiled as he shuffled in place, almost like he thought she’d be mad for choosing to see his boyfriend instead of his psychologist. That was another problem they had to work through, his anxiety over having people be mad at him. Peter it seemed, had general anxiety and his constant chatter was a coping mechanism, among other things.

“Alright, then make it in five days,” she allows, because she thinks that despite his flashbacks while with the other boy, Miles is detrimental to Peter’s recovery. It’s a lot to put on the shoulders of another fifteen-year-old, but Dr. Ruth is sure Peter’s reaction wouldn’t be good if she even suggested he separate himself from the other.

“Thank you, Dr. Ruth,” he said quietly, and she walked him toward the door where he grabbed his heavier coat and beanie. She noticed that the colors are dark and muted, a contrast to what she knew he usually wore. The only color on him is the red on the borrowed hoodie, and suspects that it’s holding him together more than he’s willing to admit to her. Eventually, they’d get there, and especially breach the subject of his unhealthy co-dependency with his boyfriend, and not have Peter react negatively.

“Be safe, Peter.”

He nodded as he pulled his beanie down over his curls, his hair having gotten longer since they had started their sessions. Peter wrapped his scarf around his neck, shielding the bottom part of his face, so only his eyes could be seen that were hidden behind his glasses. He felt a bit of a headache forming just behind his eyes, but even then he tried to give the psychologist a smile even if it was covered by the scarf. “You as well.... Merry Christmas,” he said after a moment of thought.

Dr. Ruth smiled. “Merry Christmas,” she parroted back at him, before he left her office.

 

Peter inhaled when he reached the street, lifting his partially covered face to watch the snow fall in little swirls around him and on him. He turned away from the building and turned north, the snow crunching underneath his boots as moved along the sidewalk. The teenager didn’t have long to walk, since he and May were staying at the tower. Their heater had broken down, so their apartment was freezing, and instead of spending money on buying a new one, Tony had told them to come stay at the tower, at least just for Peter’s winter break.

He was glad to be there, since he didn’t think he could be alone while May was at work, and there was always someone at the tower. The Avengers came and went, sometimes only spending the night (like in Clint’s case), and other times being there for a few days (Bucky and Sam could be heard always snarking at each other back and forth). Even Pepper had come to stay a few days, and with Karen and Friday always constant companions, Peter never felt lonely.

It had taken a lot of convincing to get them to agree to let him come alone to his therapy session, and he had really needed that. Peter needed to feel like he was in control of something, and being able to do this by himself helped.

By the time he got to the tower, deciding to take the side entrance since he wasn’t feeling up to braving the lobby right then, his mild headache had grown to an insistent throb. He leaned against the wall beside the elevator doors after pressing the button, glad this was a private elevator since he didn’t want to talk to anyone, to pretend to be in the Christmas cheer.

He stomped his boots outside of the elevator doors to dislodge any snow so he wouldn’t track any inside, removing his heavy gloves to use his ID card. Peter had removed his jacket by the time he reached the penthouse, having pressed the button to take him directly there. He sighed softly when he stepped inside the heated floor, hanging up his jacket and glad there wasn’t much melted snow on it, but still wiped it down with a towel left in the closet for this purpose. The simple action grounded him, and even if his headache hadn’t faded, he did feel a bit steady.

Peter removed the rest of his clothes, pulling on some pajama pants, the pink Hello Kitty ones his dad had gotten him as a joke, but which he wore every chance he got. Peter also wore an old MIT shirt he’d stolen from his dad’s closet and crawled into bed. It wasn’t that late, but he wanted to lay down. Besides, the headache had become unbearable, and curled up under the covers, hugging Miles hoodie as he buried his nose in the fabric. It was starting to lose his scent, and felt his heart clench at the thought that it would fade before Miles came back.

God he missed Miles, and he wondered when he had fallen so deeply in love with him. Peter hated it, because they were so young still and yet they had to be apart. Peter lived in Queens (and sporadic nights and weekends in Manhattan), and Miles lived in Brooklyn. They went to different high schools (well, Miles’s school was an Academy), would likely go to different colleges, and all he wanted was to hang onto him tightly and never be apart from him. Because he felt the most put together when the other was near.

Peter’s breath hitched, holding together to the fabric of clothing as he willed it to be enough to hold him together. He sobbed as the pain in his head became unbearable, and he felt tears on his face, and then merciful darkness soon after.

\- - - -

He moaned as he felt a hand in his hair, seeking the feeling of its cool touch. “Peter,” a voice whispered in his ear, and he whimpered in return. There was another hand on his face before he heard a soft curse. “Peter... open your eyes, baby.”

Peter opened his eyes with great difficulty, and the room spun and nausea roiled in his stomach. “M’feel sick,” he slurred. There was someone leaning over him but he couldn’t tell who it was, and his hand blindly reached for their face. His fingers traced the familiar goatee. “Dad... s’hot.”

“I know, Petey,” the man muttered. And only Ben called him that, and for a moment he thought it was his uncle that was talking to him right now. “You have a fever, sweetheart.”

“Can I hav’ sum water, u’cle Ben?” he moaned.

The man sucked in a sharp breath in surprise, and Peter didn’t know why.

“Miles, get your dad in here, now,” he heard his uncle say sternly to someone.

Peter shook his head, feeling as the blanket was pulled up and tucked around him. “Miles’s not here, u’cle.. he’s far’way.” He heard another voice soon after, and hands lifting him. Maybe a few minutes or hours later, he felt himself be placed on something cold, feeling it even through the blanket as he cried out as his back arched up. “Is cold!”

“Peter, calm down,” that voice told him, and he sobbed at feeling hands holding him down.

“No! Uncle Ben!” Peter cried. “Don’t let him! No!”

“You’re okay! Peter, you’re safe!”

The teen felt the prick of needle as he howled, knowing something bad was going to happen. He was losing strength quickly and one of the hands was stroking his hair once more. “It’s alright, baby. I got you.”

There was another hand, holding onto his as they intertwined their fingers. “Pete, I’m here,” a voice whispered in his ear. It was a nice voice, and he wanted to know it, but he was so tired. “Peter... ov... you...”

Then everything faded away.

\- - - -

Peter whimpered as his fingers fumbled for something against his face. It was hard and it tasted funny. A hand caught his wrists and someone whispered reassurances. “It’s alright, baby. It’s just medicine. You’ll be better soon.”

His eyes fluttered but didn’t open, and then he was going under again.

\- - - -

“Merry Christmas, Pete,” a voice murmured, feeling lips press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It sounded like Miles, but that couldn’t be. Miles was in Puerto Rico. But the spicy scent of his cologne filled his nose and a warm hand caressed his face.

Peter moaned softly, feeling a bit calmer and just a tab more clear-headed. “Miles?” he mumbled in confusion.

“Yeah, I’m here,” the voice said again, a bit more eager.

“I miss you, Miles...”

The other took in a ragged breath. “I’m here, Pete... open your eyes so you can see me.”

But his eyes felt much too heavy. “Sorry.... m’sorry... such a mess,” he wept. “Why’m I... p’hetic.”

The hands were back on his face, wiping the tears away. “You’re not. Come on, Pete, open your eyes,” the voice all but begged.

But it was too hard and he was so tired. “Miles, m’sleepy,” he mumbled. The hand was now stroking his hair and he sighed in content as he drifted off again.

\- - - -

He could hear the gentle strum of a guitar and a soft, familiar voice singing. “Been traveling these wide roads for so long. My heart's been far from you. Ten-thousand miles gone.” Peter knew the song, and his eyes opened, feeling that they were crusty and aching.

Peter turned his head, and he couldn’t see too well since he wasn’t wearing his glasses, but he could see enough to see Miles. He had a guitar in his lap as he strummed the cords of the song. Then he was singing and could only watch as he did, seemingly unaware that Peter was awake. “Oh, I wanna come near and give ya every part of me, but there's blood on my hands and my lips aren't clean.”

He stopped and sighed, hanging his head and Peter wet his cry, chapped lips. “Yo’re s’pos ta sing Chris’mas songs,” he slurred groggily.

Miles’s head snapped up. “Peter,” he gasped, setting the guitar down. He sat on the bed and reached for his face. “Peter,” he whispered, pressing kisses to his face and mouth.

Peter turned away with a grimace. “S’op, got bad breath,” he grumbled.

He laughed, pulling his head back around. “I don’t care, you idiot,” he said as he kissed him again. Then he rested his forehead against his. “Fuck, you scared me.”

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, clearing his throat. He groaned as the other helped him sit up as he raised the bed with the control attached to it, and saw he was in a hospital bed in the med-bay of the tower. “What happened?”

Miles sighed, laying in the bed next to him, tucking his head under his chin as he laid it against his chest. Peter hummed in content, nuzzling his nose into his curly hair to inhale the scent of his shampoo. “The pneumonia you got before weakened your lungs, and then you walked two miles in the snow like an idiot instead of calling Happy. So, it was worse this time around.”

Peter grimaced, since that explained the nose cannula he was wearing. He was surprised it wasn’t an oxygen mask, since he hated those. Although, if he remembered correctly from the small bouts of consciousness, they _had_ put it on him at some point.

“W’as that song?” Peter asked, since he couldn’t remember at the moment. Peter already feeling tired again and like he could sleep again. God, he hated his stupid weak lungs.

“Oh, it’s River by Leon Bridges.” He shifted so he could wrap his arm around the shorter teen, having to bend his knees to lay as he was because he was taller than Peter. “I personally like the title song more.”

Peter moaned sleepily. “Sing it to me,” he mumbled. “Your voice sounds nice.”

Miles chuckled. “Well, since you asked so nicely. I don’t sing for just anyone, you know.”

“S’cause you love me,” he said.

“I don’t know, I guess,” he teased. His hand sought out his, their fingers lacing and Miles was careful of the IV on the back of his hand. “Baby, baby, baby,” he sang quietly.

“I'm coming home to your tender sweet loving. You're my one and only woman. The world leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, girl.”

Peter grunted, already half asleep. “Ya cheatin’ on me?” he tried to sound playful, but it only sounded gargled.

“Never, baby,” he told him. “You're the only one that I want.” Miles kissed his lips and Peter managed a small smile before he drifted off, his boyfriend’s voice lulling him to sleep.

“I need you baby. Boy, I need your loving, darling. Wanna hold you close, boy.”

\- - - -

**Author's Note:**

> DM me on my instagram: [@phiodmuse](https://www.instagram.com/phiodmuse/)


End file.
